


The Sorcerers' Ball

by mister_otter



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, HP: EWE, Magical Artifacts, Mystery, Romance, Spells & Enchantments, Winter Solstice
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-21
Updated: 2015-12-21
Packaged: 2018-05-08 05:35:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,146
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5485505
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mister_otter/pseuds/mister_otter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On the night of the Winter Solstice, Hermione receives an unmarked package containing a mysterious item...</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Sorcerers' Ball

**Author's Note:**

> Winner of the Special Challenge Award at a long-ago round of the dramione_awards. (And I do mean long ago :)  
> Many, many thanks to eilonwy, who betas my stories as needed and offers friendship, laughter, & support on all days!

_Still, still, still,_  
One can hear the falling snow.  
For all is hushed,  
The world is sleeping,  
Holy star its vigil keeping.  
Still, still, still,  
One can hear the falling snow.  
\--German/Austrian carol  


 

Hermione Granger sat perched on the deep window seat of her bedroom, the casement thrown wide, watching as the carolers at her parents’ front gate ushered in the holidays with a quietly beautiful hymn of the season. 

As if ordered for the performance, fat, wet flakes of snow were falling, transforming the whole scene into a dark wonderland lit by thousands of cascading stars. Hermione knew she should be reveling in the tidings of comfort and joy that accompanied the time of year, but all she felt was a vague unease, a low mood of disquiet.

The war had been over for eighteen months and the period of mourning for those lost had passed. To mark its end, Lucius Malfoy had offered his manor, with its vast surrounding parkland, as the setting for the first-ever Sorcerers’ Ball.

Set to take place on the night of the Winter Solstice, the ball was meant to celebrate a return to light and joy for the wizarding community and to mark a new era of unity among all who were magical—the lowly and the high-born, the pureblood and the less-than-pure. 

Securing the Ministry’s permission to host the ball had been an absolute coup for Lucius, placing him solidly in the forefront as a leader of the new movement of cooperation. Wizarding society never seemed to tire of discussing the Malfoys’ generosity in sponsoring the event.

Hermione sighed, and glanced toward the wardrobe door where her dress—black with a silver scalloped hem—hung, waiting. When the invitation had come, she had been sorely tempted to RSVP in the negative and spend Solstice night in quiet enjoyment with her small family. 

Instead, her girlfriends had pleaded, bullied and cajoled her into agreeing that she would go to the ball, hauling her on a gown-shopping expedition that had yielded the beautiful creation hanging opposite her bed.

Hermione shook her head. Tonight, she would rather stay home and read. Or watch her parents perform oral surgery. Anything would be preferable to an evening of dancing and dining in a place that had once reverberated with the shrieks of the tortured.

Maybe she would quietly return the gown tomorrow and not show up at all tonight. It was possible that no one would notice her non-appearance. After all, she hadn’t secured a date for the evening--hadn’t, in fact, been out with a single, solitary boy since she and Ron had returned to being ‘just friends.’

Now Ron was back with Lavender, where Hermione privately thought he belonged. The reunited couple would attend the Malfoys' ball along with everyone else of Hermione’s acquaintance.

The whole world had gone mad with Solstice Night Fever. How was it that she seemed to be the only one who found Lucius’ sudden about-face suspiciously opportune? 

The man knew how to land on his feet; she’d have to give him that. He and Narcissa had sent a personal, handwritten apology pleading for forgiveness and understanding after the terrors Hermione had suffered in their home. Very responsible of them, but she still wasn’t looking forward to attending a ball in a former place of torment. 

As for the Malfoy son, she had not seen the pale-faced demon-spawn since the night of the Battle for Hogwarts.

Hermione shook herself from her reverie to find the carolers gone and her room freezing. She was reaching up to close the window when an owl appeared out of the sparkling night. 

Flapping toward her like a ghost summoned from the whirling darkness, its appearance was so like Harry’s beloved Hedwig that Hermione felt tears prick her eyes.

_Damned Deatheaters. Damn them all to hell…Did any of them have the right to go on enjoying their lives as if they hadn’t wreaked bloody havoc in everybody else’s?_

The owl glided silently into the room and Hermione removed the package attached to its leg, sending the bird soaring back into the snow-globe world with a treat in its beak.

Closing the window firmly this time, she seated herself on the bed and examined what the owl had brought, turning the white embossed box over in her hands and looking for a card that would indicate who had sent it. Finding none, she lifted the cover. Inside, on a bed of burgundy velvet, was a black Christmas ornament.

Black, as in not red, gold, or green. Black, as in funereal, not festive. Black, like the souls of unrepentant Death Eaters…

Hermione turned the object over in her hands, studying it carefully. Surely, surely, it wasn’t an ornament. But the hook was there--slender, silver, and curved, perfect for hanging from the highest bough, if one so desired.

Cupping the cold orb in her palms, Hermione stared into it as if it might suddenly speak to her like a dark version of Trelawney’s crystals. Why would someone send this, with no card attached, at such an opportune time?

Tonight was the Solstice Ball, and the one night of the year that yielded the most hours of darkness. Could this be a warning that all was not as it seemed--that Lucius Malfoy was untrustworthy? If so, where did the warning come from? 

Hermione, interest piqued, sat puzzling over the ball. As the minutes passed, she realized it grew no warmer in her hands, but remained impervious to her touch with the burning cold of an outer planet.

Placing the ball on her coverlet, Hermione paced the bedchamber and attempted to concentrate, but her speculations about who sent the ornament and what to do about it ran round her head like a toy Hogwarts Express, endlessly circling the same track. 

On a whim, she threw open her window again. Cold air rushed in to fill the room, bringing with it a gust of snow. One fat, moisture-laden flake blew over to land on the black ornament, melting in the bedchamber’s heat and rolling down the face of the ball like a single tear.

Where the trail of moisture touched the cold orb, words appeared, written in swirling scribbles of frost-fire—the words _tonight_ and _fin._

Hermione stared, her heart in her throat, as the writing slowly faded from view.

 _Tonight, fin_ —tonight, the end.

*

Hermione rushed down the stairs as fast as her high, silver heels would allow. Her hair was swept into a pretty cascade of curls, her lips and cheeks touched with raspberry, and her eyes gleaming with both alarm and excitement. She hadn’t felt this alive in months. Something was afoot, and in spite of the possible gravity of the situation, she did love a mystery.

“Mum, Dad—I’m off to the Winter Solstice Ball. I’ll tell you all about it in the morning.” A quick kiss, a flash of green Floo powder, and she was gone, the cold, black ornament hidden safely in the inner pocket of her evening cloak.

*

Twenty minutes later, Hermione stood in the parlor of Grimmauld Place embroiled in an animated argument with Harry--but not on the topic she had been hoping to discuss.

“For the last time, Harry,” she exclaimed. “I do _not_ need a last-minute escort for the ball! I’m sorry that Neville’s date cancelled, and I’d like to help out, I truly would, but I refuse to be paired with any more men who are like brothers to me!”

Harry looked at her reproachfully. He hadn’t quite forgiven Hermione for ending it with Ron, and he didn’t much fancy the empty-headed Lavender in the role of future sister-in-law.

“Harry, please—if you’d just take a look at this.” For the third time, Hermione thrust the black ornament in Harry’s direction and at last he took it from her, gave it a cursory glance, and handed it back.

“You blew in here like the Hounds of Hell were on your tail to show me _this?”_ he asked. “It’s obviously an ornament. And it’s black. So what?”

“But it arrived with no name attached, no nothing! And tonight, of all nights--the night of the Sorcerers’ Ball, when all of the wizarding world will be gathered at Malfoy Manor. I’m afraid it could be a warning that Lucius Malfoy is up to no good…”

“Leave it, Hermione,” said Harry tiredly. “It’s probably just a sick prank. Or maybe…” He hesitated a moment too long. “Maybe it’s a reminder from a friend, telling you how gloomy you’ve become.”

“What?”

“I didn’t want to have to be the one to say this, Hermione—but it’s high time somebody did.” Harry thrust his hands into his pockets and lowered his head as though he were about to charge at a brick wall. “Everyone’s noticed it and remarked on it—the way you’ve changed since the war. You’ve become so self-absorbed…so moody. You’re nothing like the person you used to be.”

Hermione stared at Harry, stunned. Her eyes welled with sudden tears.

“I just want some peace, Hermione.” Harry’s words were a prayer and a plea. “It’s what we _all_ need. Even Lucius bloody Malfoy is trying to make restitution for his part in the war.” 

He reached out to hug his friend, as she stood stiff and unyielding in his arms. “You need to find some peace of your own, love--stop fighting a war that ended months ago.”

Releasing Hermione, Harry glanced at her nervously. “Well, I’m off to meet Ginny. See you at the ball?”

Hermione nodded as Harry vanished, leaving her with the cold, black ornament in her hand, her heart in her shoes, and the realization that she hadn’t had a chance to tell him about the words _Tonight—fin._

*

Her arrival at Malfoy Manor dispelled, at least in small part, Hermione’s fears about visiting a place that resonated with terrible memories. Though she knew its black heart still beat beneath the elegant exterior, she found that the Manor’s house and grounds had been bewitched into a wonderland that in no way resembled the place as she’d last seen it. 

Faerie lights twinkled like fallen stars from every tree in the Manor’s vast parkland and snow-piled paths had been cleared for strolling. The house itself appeared as a brilliantly lighted ice palace, with turrets and spires sparkling silver against the night sky. 

But Hermione’s suspicions lingered. The showy decorations were no doubt designed to put guests in awe and at ease—or to catch them off guard, if she was right about Lucius Malfoy’s hidden intentions…

Hermione stood in the midst of the lovely, wintry landscape feeling a bit lost. She was here—now what? Briefly, she regretted her hasty decision not to accept Neville as a last-minute escort. At least she would have had a partner-in-crime for snooping about the Manor and uncovering the meaning of the black ornament. Neville would have believed her, even if Harry didn’t…

Signing, she stepped beneath one of the beautifully lighted trees and stealthily removed the cold, black orb from her pocket--to find that it was no longer black at all, but glowing with a deep, dark, evergreen light. A Slytherin light.

Hermione stared at it, startled. The ball was transforming itself! Now that it was on Malfoy property, the ornament was apparently Spelled to…Her mouth formed a tiny O as writing began to appear once again, thin and elegant lines of silver fashioned in a spiky hand. 

The lines shaped themselves into the words _t-o-n-i-g-h-t_ and f-i-n-d- m-e.

Tonight, find me. Not _tonight, fin_ \--as Hermione had originally thought. _Find me._ Somehow, in her bedroom, she had received only part of the ornament’s message and her interpretation of it had been all wrong. 

As she stood staring at the changed orb and pondering a course of action, a further metamorphosis occurred. The ball began to glow warm against her skin and to rock gently on her palm, as though it were coming to life. 

The feeling was most unsettling. Hermione was about to toss the ornament from her hand when it suddenly lifted into the air and began to float away, moving like a green faerie light down one of the cleared paths that led toward the heart of the parkland.

She lifted the skirts of her shirred black evening cloak and followed the weaving, bobbing orb, all caution cast aside for the sake of satisfying her curiosity. 

Rounding a bend in the path, she saw ahead of her a towering, ancient tree. The one tree in the entire landscape that was not lighted, it loomed black against a blacker sky, gnarled and barren branches splayed like gigantic fingers.

Beneath the tree stood Draco Malfoy, dressed in evening finery and in possession of Hermiones’s ornament. He was tossing and catching the ball one-handed, with the practiced dexterity of an expert seeker, his other hand wrapped around a tumbler of amber liquid, ice, and cherries.

Hermione approached cautiously. She had not seen Malfoy for eighteen months and in all that time there had been little word on where he was or what he was doing. 

One change was immediately obvious--this Draco was no longer the boy of her Hogwarts years. The elegant planes of his face had sharpened and hardened to those of a very handsome man. Hermione could no more imagine calling this creature ‘ferret’ than she could imagine Ron as a lover.

“Right on time,” Draco told her with a cool, smirking grin. “I expected nothing less from a little girl who could never keep her curiosity in check.”

“You!” she exclaimed. “Malfoy, _you_ sent the ornament?”

“I did.” He pocketed the ball, offering Hermione a flute of champagne from a tray hovering near the tree.

“But…but _why?_ I thought…I thought the orb was some type of warning…” She sputtered, but accepted the glass.

“I’ve no doubt that there is a large and entertaining catalogue of your speculations upon its arrival. Must have driven you mad.” He seemed highly amused. “But the truth behind it is very plain, and very simple. I need help--and you happen to be the person who can best provide it.”

 _“Me_ help you? You must be joking! Why, we are sworn…”

”Enemies?” He cut her off. “I think not. The wizarding world is at peace, Granger. I prefer to think that you and I are former nemeses—once worthy opponents, now equal in strength and power.”

Hermione stared at him, her lips parted prettily in amazement. Draco’s eyes lingered over her mouth before he continued.

“My family is attempting to make restitution for our part in the Voldemort debacle. Could you accept an apology from me, in addition to the one you received from my parents?”

At his words, Hermione’s mouth fell all the way open and sudden anger blazed in her eyes. How dare he trick her into coming here? And how dare he think a few paltry words of apology would make up for…

Suddenly Draco reached out and with one finger, gently lifted her chin to close her open mouth. His touch was so startling, so unexpected, that Hermione forgot to be angry, returning instead to her previous state of intense curiosity.

“Where have you been since the end of the war, Malfoy?” she demanded. “No one’s heard a word about you. And more importantly, why am I here now?”

”Been keeping up with me, have you?” He grinned. “I wouldn’t have thought you cared.”

“I was just curious, that’s all. It’s as if you totally disappeared…”

“Actually I was away, traveling—to India, the Far East, and the American Southwest. I used the time to clear my head, open my mind to other ways of being, other cultures.  
Spent a bit of time thinking about you, as well.” He quirked one eyebrow. “No doubt that comes as a great surprise.”

 _Like finding a badger in my holiday stocking. Unexpectedly warm, but does it bite?_ “I…” she began. “I…”

“Your mouth is gaping like a fish’s again,” Draco informed her. “As for why you are here--I knew you couldn’t resist the lure of a mystery. I counted on that overwhelming curiosity of yours to bring you to me tonight.”

“For what reason?”

”I’ve a favor to ask,” he replied matter-of-factly. “I’d like to kiss you.”

Hermione had heard the term thunderstruck, but never personally experienced its reality until now. Of all the requests Malfoy could have made, this was the one thing she would never have imagined him asking.

“Kiss _me?_ But why?” She was far too astounded to be incensed.

Draco sighed deeply and the mask of mocking amusement he had worn since she stepped into his presence vanished, replaced by an expression of worried gloom. 

“The tree we are standing under,” he began. “is the Malfoy Witching Tree. It has overseen momentous Malfoy events since early medieval times.” He paused to take a deep drink from his tumbler of whiskey. “Tonight, beneath this tree, my engagement to Astoria Greengrass will be formally announced—the result of a betrothal contracted by my parents when I was three. They’ve since come to regret that decision, but the contract is magically ironclad. ”

Hermione stared at Draco, horrified by such an archaic concept. “But—what does any of this have to do with _me?”_ she asked, puzzled.

“I arrived home from my travels determined not to marry Astoria. Since then, I’ve spent hours, days, _weeks_ scouring my father’s vast library for a way out of the contract. In a book of Jacobean law, I found a clause that provides the solution.”

”Which is…?”

”If the Malfoy heir can show proof positive that an alliance with a different witch would be more beneficial to the family, the previous arrangement becomes invalid. You, Granger, are my way out of this ghastly marriage.”

”What do you mean?” 

”The Witching Tree is a living presence--sentient and powerfully magical, somewhat like the Sorting Hat. If you kiss me here, the tree will recognize you as a witch of Muggle lineage—one whose membership in the family would insure the Malfoys’ place in the new order of things. The Greengrass contract would immediately dissolve.”

”But we wouldn’t actually be betrothed?”

“That’s the beauty of my plan. The Witching Tree would acknowledge you as more valuable than Astoria, and free me to pursue you. Once I’m free, you never have to see or speak to me again, if that’s your choice.”

Hermione felt a wary admiration of Draco’s creative solution and a reluctant sympathy for both he and Astoria, facing a marriage where no love existed. It was positively barbaric.

She shook her head, remembering her original suppositions about the purpose of the black ornament.

“I thought…the ornament was a warning that your father might be up to no good,” she confessed. “Has he really changed his spots, then?”

Draco smiled. “Lucius Malfoy isn’t a leopard, Granger. He’s a chameleon--able to order himself in whatever way best fits the current situation.”

“And what does that make you?”

”Me? Why, I’m a sorcerer, love.” Draco turned toward her, his eyes so alight with fierce, winter-star brilliance that Hermione was tempted to grant his request then and there, and all else be damned.

Instead, she took a step backward. “Wait just one minute! What benefit is there for me in agreeing…to kiss you?”

“In return for your cooperation, I’m prepared to present clothes to one of our House-elves.”

Hermione gasped in surprise but recovered quickly. “Five elves,” she bargained. “I won’t do it for less.”

”Two.”

“Four.”

”Three. I’ve a young couple with a baby…”

”Done.”

“Thank you, Hermione.” Draco’s voice was low, the look in his eyes quietly intense. “I…just…thank you,” he repeated.

“Shall we…do it now?” Hermione asked. She found she was suddenly quite curious and perhaps just a _wee_ bit eager to experience this kiss. After all, at Hogwarts, Draco had had the most delicious reputation… 

“Let’s.” He stepped toward her and swept her into his arms without another word, tilting her chin and fitting his lips over hers. His mouth, cold from the ice in his glass, tasted of whiskey and cherries. It warmed quickly as he explored Hermione’s with a hungry expertise that weakened her knees and moistened her silky knickers.

Hermione’s senses whirled as Draco pulled her closer, aligning her body with his so that she was safe in his arms and at the same time pressed against an intriguing, burgeoning erection.

Suddenly, a deep groan sounded around them as the Malfoy Witching Tree awoke, shaking itself in Whomping Willow fashion and setting fire to the night with an explosion of tiny, ensorcelled stars. 

Hermione tried to pull away to see what was happening, but Draco only kissed her more deeply, moving one hand to cradle her breast and touch her nipple. She forgot about the tree, the stars, the Sorcerers’ Ball. Nothing existed but the intense magic building between the two of them.

When he finally released her, they stood beneath a shower of cascading sparks, chests heaving, and stared at one another.

“Happy Solstice, Granger.” His lips curved in a genuine, smirk-free smile, and then he reached for her again.

“And to you,” Hermione murmured against his lips. “Is the contract broken, then?” 

“Draco! Draco!” The answer came from seventeen-year-old Astoria Greengrass, flying down the path with the skirts of her white ball gown hiked around her thighs.

She enveloped Draco in a tight hug. “You did it! I knew it--I knew you would! Now we don’t have to get married!” 

Laughing, she spun away into the arms of two beaming, dark-haired boys who had followed her, and the threesome ran off together. 

“Thanks, Malfoy!” one of the boys called over his shoulder.

“Fuck all. Twins, this time,” Draco muttered.

Guests were beginning to gather about the Witching Tree now, curious to see what had caused the spectacular sound-and-light show. 

“I’ll have to make an announcement as to what this is all about,” Draco told Hermione. “Perhaps you could help me think of a really good lie? I’d rather not share our private business with the wizarding world in general.”

“Why not just leave, then, and allow your father to deal with it?” she suggested, with a smirk of her own. “After all, this _is_ his show.”

“That’s a very Slytherin-esque suggestion, Granger. And I’ll do it—if you’ll go with me. I don’t believe either of us has had dinner…”

Hermione nodded in quick agreement and hand in hand, the two of them navigated the piled snow to the far side of the Witching Tree.

“Here. Before we go—a souvenir of the Solstice Ball.” Draco reached into the pocket of his evening cloak and drew out Hermione’s ornament.

It lay in the palm of his hand, no longer black or green but pulsing gently with a soft, golden light. Scrolling across it once again were the letters _T-o-n-i-g-h-t and f-i-n._  
Heads together, Draco and Hermione watched until the writing had completed itself:

_Tonight--Finite Quisitum_  
Draco Malfoy  & Hermione Granger  
Winter Solstice, 1999

“Malfoy? What does this mean?”

“I…honestly don’t know. I didn’t…that is—it’s not a spell I’m responsible for. I suppose it means that our actions tonight broke the betrothal that bound me to Astoria…”

“No, it doesn’t. That would be _Finite Incantatum. Finite Quisitum_ translates something like ‘search ended’ or ‘quest completed’--as if we’d both been seeking something that we’ve now found…”

They stared at each other in shock and amazement. Hermione spoke first.

“Malfoy, do you think it means … _us?”_ Her voice was little more than an awed whisper.

“I don’t know, Granger,” Draco murmured, brushing his thumb across her bottom lip. “But I’d be very, very interested in finding out.” He took her hand then, and they Apparated away as fresh flakes of snow began to fall across the parkland in a Solstice night benediction.

*

Beneath the Witching Tree, the tall, elegant host and hostess of the Winter Solstice Ball stood arm in arm, waiting to explain to their guests why the tree had come so suddenly and powerfully to life.

“Do you think it will work, Lucius?” Narcissa whispered, glancing over her shoulder to the magical shimmer left by Draco and Hermione’s departure. “I’d like our son to be happy.”

“Of course it will, dearest. She’s perfect for him, you know--and for us, if we are going to survive successfully in this new ‘spirit of cooperation.’”

“Well, she’s certainly a better match than that randy schoolgirl, Astoria…” 

“Undoubtedly. And now he’s free to pursue her—an enjoyable task at which I’ve no doubt he’ll succeed. Welcome to the family, Miss Granger,” Lucius said softly, stepping forward to address his guests.

 

FIN


End file.
